


Monsters Running Wild Inside of Me

by tricksterity



Series: Commissions [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Denial, Depression, Fred Weasley Lives, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, past Fred Weasley/Lee Jordan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksterity/pseuds/tricksterity
Summary: Maybe Fred had always stared at Harry a little too long whenever they’d taken to the skies to practise for Quidditch and the younger had laughed like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders, smiling so wide his eyes all but disappeared into small crescents and even with the wind blowing his hair off his forehead to reveal that distinct scar he’d just seemed like another teenager. But Fred had only stared because it was so rare to see Harry truly happy and free like that, was all.It wasn’t reciprocated.Fred didnothave a crush on his younger brother’s best friend who was a competent, attractive and powerful wizard who was all but heading up the auror department at age twenty-one. Definitely not.It was one-hundred percent false that Fred could potentially have been harbouring a small, tiny, insignificant admiration crush on one Harry James Potter.Completely false.





	Monsters Running Wild Inside of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Centuries_Of_Mischief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centuries_Of_Mischief/gifts).



> Written as a commission for the lovely Cheyenne!

The night was dark and full of aurors creeping about beneath invisibility cloaks and sound muffling spells. After three long years, they had finally trapped down the Carrows, and were going to put the twins to justice.

 

Harry felt a particular kind of bloodthirsty vindication fill him up as he approached the front door of the run-down, near collapsing building. Two auror teams were flanking the other exits to make sure that this time there was no escape, and they even had a team in the air just in case the Carrows tried anything. They’d erected anti-apparition wards about the block, so they had ample enough room to strike down the Carrows if they tried to run for it. Harry had requested to be part of the team to storm the front, and nobody said no to him.

 

Not anymore.

 

The anger bubbled within his chest as he crept up the dilapidated front steps without a sound, wand out and at the ready. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d successfully used the Cruciatus Curse for the first time on Amycus Carrow, but couldn’t stop the smirk that twisted his lips at the thought of the man thrashing and writhing on the ground, finally receiving a taste of his own medicine. _Nobody_ spat insults at Minerva McGonagall without consequences.

 

At the signal, Harry threw off his cloak and blasted down the front door. The sound of two identical explosions sounded from around the house, and the three teams entered the building with wands at the ready. Immediately they heard panicked footsteps from upstairs – the idiots couldn’t even manage to at least try and hide, it was a miracle that it’d taken so long for the aurors to catch them. The Carrows were manipulative and cruel, and were willing to employ spells that no auror would even dare to use, even in the most desperate of times.

 

“Ground floor is clear!” one of the other teams yelled, a few of them staying on perimeter as Harry led the others up the stairs to where the Carrows were holing up. They kicked down the doors and methodically cleared each room, shield spells on the tips of their tongue at the first sign of movement within, and soon they all came to a stop before the last closed door at the end of the hallway.

 

Not bothering to cast a protective charm, Harry blasted the door open with so much force it was reduced to splinters, and his gaze honed in on the two emaciated, pale Carrow siblings.

 

He stepped forward into the room, and immediately concluded two things.

 

One: the Carrows hadn’t fired a spell at him yet.

 

Two: the slight resistance across his ankle, and the following metallic clink.

 

He looked down to see a slack tripwire coiled on the ground about his foot, connected to a small round pin. Inches away sat a small, unassuming metal sphere. _Clever._

 

Harry barely had time to yell a warning and back away a few steps when the grenade went off, taking him and the Carrows with it.

 

* * *

 

The last time Fred Weasley had seen the sparsely decorated walls of St. Mungo’s, he had been on the brink of death. An explosion had thrown him and Percy across the hallways of Hogwarts and slammed them head-first into the brick, Fred taking the brunt of it as he had reflexively moved to protect his brother. The following days after that had been a blur of George pleading at his side, unimaginable agony and fading in and out of consciousness.

 

The healers had done a fantastic job on him considering the sheer overwhelming number of patients they’d received after the battle, and only minimal scarring had been left behind. It simply appeared as though he had a mottling of pale sunspots or vitiligo across his chest, arms and back, as opposed to the agonizing third-degree burns that had charred his skin and muscle down to the bone in some places. His head wound had taken longer to heal, though thankfully the aphasia as a result had only been temporary.

 

And now, staring down at Harry Potter in the same state he’d been in three years prior felt like a dream. An awful, horrific dream in which his worst nightmare had been inflicted on one of the people closest to him, someone who had already suffered through so much and didn’t deserve anything further.

 

“Fucking hell,” Ron swore from next to him, and Hermione was already heaving sobs into Ron’s shoulder, one of his hands coming up to card through her frizzy hair. They were still in their holiday gear. George reached out to wrap a hand around Fred’s wrist, but he barely felt it.

 

The projections floating above Harry’s prone form showed his current state of health – all bars in the red. His magical core was depleted and withered, his heart stuttering and struggling through each beat, every inhale assisted by spellwork and charms. Fred had seen what people in Muggle hospitals looked like, with tubes and needles and sensors attached, and couldn’t tell if that was better or worse than Harry lying entirely alone in the bed, invisible magic working his body for him. Would he feel more secure being able to _see_ what was helping Harry, or was it be worse to have the reflection of his state so obviously before him?

 

“Oh… _dear_ …” his Mum stuttered out, looking at Harry who had become another son for her with a pale, drawn face. Ginny’s bottom lip was quivering though she was staunchly ignoring the tears that tracked down her face, and their father had completely shut down. “How did this happen?”

 

“We tracked down the Carrows, ma’am,” came the voice of one of Harry’s associates. “They were holed up on the second floor, and… they were smarter than we thought they were. They had a grenade, a kind of handheld Muggle explosion, that they had rigged to go off with a trapwire when someone entered the room. Potter took point and… he made sure we all got free of the blast, but he was caught in it. Spells can’t protect against Muggle weapons like this, and…” the man trailed off.

 

“Tell me the Carrows are dead,” a furious voice growled, and it took Fred a few seconds to realise that it was his own.

 

“They are,” the auror said. “They were killed in the explosion, but they were determined to take us down with them. It’s thanks to Potter that the rest of us are alive.”

 

And something had to be very wrong with Fred for the resentment that filled him at those words; the fervent, guilty wish that someone else had gone in first and Harry was still unhurt and whole, that someone else took had taken his place. Fred knew first-hand the agony of what Harry experienced – was still experiencing – and never thought that he’d wish it on anyone. Now Fred wished it on anyone _but_ him.

 

Hadn’t he been through enough?

 

Unable to take it anymore, Fred wrenched his wrist out of his brother’s grip and shoved his way through the throng of his family and burst out the door, running blindly through the hallways until he reached the nearest exist and all but collapsed on the footpath outside, heaving in cold air like a drowning man.

 

_It wasn’t fucking fair._

 

A gentle hand came down between his shoulder blades, rubbing soothing circles, and he threw it off like it burned to the touch, lurching away down the street to the nearest rubbish bin so he could empty his stomach into it. The bile crawled its way up his throat like fire ( _and he’d really like his brain to stop coming up with metaphors related to his biggest fear_ ) and he coughed and spluttered until there was nothing else left, and he had to lock his knees to make sure he didn’t fall to the ground in a pathetic mess.

 

“I’m sorry, Fred,” came Ginny’s soft voice. “We should’ve… you should’ve been warned beforehand.”

 

“I don’t care about that. It’s _Harry_ ,” he gasped into the bin, like that explained everything. And maybe it did, because when he turned to gauge Ginny’s silence, she was staring at him with a sympathetic, knowing expression.

 

Harry had been a constant in Fred’s life since he was thirteen years old. The lost, too-skinny boy with the crazy curls and knobbly knees that he’d helped at King’s Cross. The stupidly brave eleven-year-old that went toe-to-toe with Lord Voldemort, the starved and confused kid they’d rescued by ripping metal bars off his bedroom window. The boy who nearly died to save Fred’s little sister, who accepted the Marauder’s Map with a cheeky smile, who nearly got killed by a dragon _and_ merpeople _and_ Death Eaters. The traumatised fifteen-year-old who lashed out at everyone and everything because he couldn’t understand why secrets were being kept from him at every turn and why he had to be the one to constantly experience death. The boy who saved their father’s life, who saved all their lives, who _died_ for them.

 

The boy who had laughed gleefully at every Quidditch practise, who had taken to the air like he was born to be there. The one who had been willing to help them all despite his own fears of inadequacy, who stood up for what he believed in, who sacrificed everything over and over again for those he loved. Harry, who had grown from a scrawny eleven-year-old to a strong teenager and an even more amazing man. Who kept fighting even when he didn’t have to, who hunted down each and every Death Eater like it was his personal responsibility to wipe out every single trace of Lord Voldemort from the world.

 

And this was his reward? Being burned alive, on the precipice of death, nobody knowing for sure whether he would pull through or finally perish?

 

What utter bullshit.

 

Fred took a few moments to compose himself, gripping the metal edges of the bin so tightly he thought his fingertips would rip open, and did his best to breathe. Once he could exhale without feeling like his head was going to explode, he straightened his spine and turned to his little sister.

 

“Mum suggested that you… go to Harry’s and maybe pick up a change of clothes for him, and some of his things. For when he wakes up,” she said. They both knew that she really meant _if_ he woke up. There was no guarantee that Harry would survive so much physical and neurological damage.

 

As much as Fred wanted to camp out in Harry’s hospital room, to hold the man’s hand and never let go, the sight of seeing someone he cared about so dearly in such a state would destroy him.

 

“That’s probably a good idea,” Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’ll… give me something to do, at least.”

 

Ginny smiled and stepped forward, squeezing Fred’s hand supportively, even though his own fingers were limp and he didn’t feel in control of his body in the slightest. She stepped in again, and wrapped her other arm around Fred’s waist, burying her face into his chest, doing her best to hold back the sobs that threatened to shake through her body. Fred wrapped his arm around her shoulders and rest his chin on the top of her head, the numbness spreading from his body to his mind.

 

Eventually his little sister stepped back, and they both pretended that she wasn’t wiping tears from her eyes. Ginny was still too much of a jock to feel comfortable showing emotion like that, and she nodded at him with a shooing motion.

 

Fred turned on the spot, and apparated to number twelve Grimmauld Place.

 

* * *

 

Grimmauld Place was markedly different from the last time Fred had been there. During the time that the Order had used it as a headquarters, it had been filled with dark magic, dark artifacts and a certain atmosphere that led to bleak thoughts and a lot of in-fighting. It had been cold, damp and dirty, the walls lined with shrunken house-elf heads and the awful screeching portrait of Walburga Black.

 

It took a few minutes for Fred to actually realise that it was the same house and he hadn’t broken into some poor Muggle’s place next door. The entire place had been redecorated – the hallway walls were no longer an awful bile green but a soft powder blue with white trimmings. Walburga’s portrait and moth-eaten curtains had somehow been replaced with a view from the astronomy tower at Hogwarts, looking over the Black Lake. The kitchen was still cramped but was homey and filled with mismatched floral china, and the sun shone in through the living room windows to lighten up the whole area. A warm blue fire crackled happily in the grate, and something unknotted in Fred’s chest.

 

He’d been worried that after the war that Harry had still been living in the dark, grim place that they’d all temporarily called home. At least he’d had somewhere nice to live.

 

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Fred headed back into the hallway and up the first flight of stairs, wondering which room was Harry’s. He methodically checked each room for signs of being lived in. Most of them were dust-free and in liveable states, though Fred doubted that Harry had guests over all that often. The boy – now a man – had retreated into himself after he’d joined the aurors, becoming sharp and angular.

 

The war had never ended for Harry, determined to bring all the Death Eaters to justice, and Fred hated it whenever the younger had come over to the Burrow for dinner or passed through Diagon Alley and he’d seen the hard set of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes. Harry of all people deserved to live a life free of pain and war, ever since he’d been forced to become a child soldier.

 

For the first time, Fred understood why Dumbledore had kept so much information from Harry, even though it had angered the boy beyond belief at the time. The wish to keep him innocent, happy and child-like at the expense of their relationship came from a pure place of love and protection.

 

Bypassing Sirius’ bedroom completely, Fred finally opened the door to a room that screamed _Harry_. A Gryffindor tapestry was hung up above the crimson covered bed, and the room was just as messy and disorganised as Harry had always been. Papers and books littered his desk and the surrounding floor, newspaper clippings were hastily tacked up onto the wall, and robes and Muggle clothing were strewn haphazardly about the place. A Firebolt was propped up in the far corner by the wardrobe, and a few dark detectors spun in place. A Holyhead Harpies poster had been stuck up too, personally signed by Ginny who’d given it to Harry a few Christmases ago with a cheeky laugh.  

 

It felt almost like an invasion of privacy as Fred carefully picked his way through the room, trying his best not to dislodge anything on his way to the wardrobe.

 

He smiled when he opened the wardrobe doors and it seemed like the shelves were a second away from bursting and violently throwing their entire contents onto Harry’s floor. He’d clearly inherited Ron’s sense of organisation (none) through proximity, and the entire top layer of clothes seemed to just be soft, oversized jumpers. Fred grabbed a duffle bag hidden away in the corner and placed it atop the unmade bed, and gently folded a few of the jumpers into it. He could imagine Harry curled up in the forest green one on a cold winter night, sitting in the living room with his calloused fingers holding a mug of tea, or maybe hot chocolate. It was a peaceful image that Fred unfortunately knew would be rare for the younger man.

 

He recognised the jumper that his mother had knitted Harry for his eighteenth birthday, made especially large so it would still fit him when he stopped growing – which had seemed like it would never happen, he ended up nearly as tall as Ron. It was soft from years of wear and love, and with gentle hands Fred placed it into the duffle bag. He also threw in a plain black robe, some socks and underwear, a few threadbare shirts and some dark-wash jeans. They were ripped at the knee, and Fred wondered if maybe Harry hadn’t gotten around to replacing them, but he couldn’t see any other trousers other than some grey trackpants he also put into the bag.

 

Catching sight of a shoebox that had previously been hidden beneath the mountain of clothes at the bottom of the wardrobe, Fred grabbed it, wondering if perhaps he should pack some shoes for Harry. The box was mostly untouched, still looking relatively new, and Harry would want to look presentable when he finally woke up and was able to leave the hospital, knowing that there would be paparazzi waiting for the first sighting of the famous auror Harry Potter.

 

Picking up the box, expecting it to hold a nice pair of formal shoes, Fred was instead a little shocked by the piles of folded paper that sat loosely within. Curious, and a little guilty, Fred picked up the top one and opened it, promising that he’d just give it a quick scan to make sure it wasn’t anything Harry would need at the hospital. He recognised the man’s awful chicken scratch – he’d always been terrible with a quill – and began to read.

 

> _My love,_
> 
> _Things at work have been getting worse. Nobody can look me in the eye anymore except for Ron, and even he’s staring at me when he thinks I can’t see him. They all think I’m about to explode or go off the deep end any minute now._
> 
> _They wouldn’t be wrong._
> 
> _I don’t care for much aside from catching the Carrows, now, and after that my work will be done. All the Death Eaters will be taken care of, and I can finally rest with my job completed. It’s likely that I won’t survive the mission, but that’s a form of rest too, isn’t it? Death._
> 
> _It doesn’t scare me, I’ve done it before. It’ll be like coming home._

 

Fred choked as he threw the letter onto the ground, falling to his knees at the words that still swum before his vision. The words _my love_ had thrown him for a loop, however that was nothing compared to Harry’s casual admittance that he didn’t care if he lived or died on the mission. That perhaps he’d walked into that grenade on purpose, that he didn’t have anything he cared for that wasn’t catching Death Eaters…

 

Merlin, how did it get this bad without the rest of them knowing?

 

Or perhaps they had, and just didn’t think that Harry would ever be desperate enough to do anything about it. Maybe they all thought it was a phase, just a bad few months, the pressure of working getting to him.

 

After all, that’s what Fred had thought.

 

Swallowing back the bile that threatened to crawl back up this throat and choke him, Fred picked up the box and without thinking about it too much, tipped it upside down so the letters fluttered down onto the floor.

 

Convincing himself it was for Harry’s best interest and continued health, he picked up the letter from the top, the very first one that he would’ve written, and started reading. It was dated from only a few months after the war ended in ‘98.

 

> _~~Ron,~~ _
> 
> _~~Sorry this letter isn’t like the others. I can’t… really put my thoughts into words. It’s difficult, because I feel like… I don’t know what I’m fee~~ _
> 
>  
> 
> _~~Hermione,~~ _
> 
> _~~You’ve always been able to talk me through things like this. Things like me not knowing how to deal with my emotions and you knowing exactly what to do. I tried writing this to Ron but, as you said, he has the emotional range of a teaspoon.~~ _
> 
> _~~I’m struggling to figure out what to do with my life. And I know you have enough on your plate, with catching up with your studies and tracking down your parents and figuring out how to remove the memory charm on them and this was a bad idea~~ _
> 
>  
> 
> _~~Luna,~~ _
> 
> _~~I think if anyone was to understand how I’m feeling right now, it would be you.~~ _
> 
> _~~I’ve been fighting for years. Since I was 11 – even before then, fighting every day at the Dursleys. Now that it’s over I don’t know what to do. I thought I’d feel relieved but I’m still so angry. You’ve been through so much too. I shouldn’t burden you with this.~~ _
> 
>  
> 
> _~~Sirius,~~ _
> 
> _~~Writing to you in the past has helped, but now everyone I cared about is dead. I can’t keep doing this, I want to~~ _
> 
>  
> 
> _Fred,_
> 
> _I’m not quite sure why I’ve decided to write to you. Maybe because I know that you’ll bounce back faster than the others. Everyone has been through so much, and I’ll just be a burden on them. You and George have always been able to get through everything, laughing, and come out the other side just fine._
> 
> _We don’t talk much, so I doubt that you’ll ever actually see this letter. I just… I need to talk to someone, someone who will understand but not judge me, someone I won’t feel like a burden on. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve had a crush on you since I was about fourteen. The moment you and George tried to cross the age barrier and turned into old men was the first time in years – maybe my whole life – that I’d ever laughed so hard._
> 
> _You bring me so much joy. Something that I need in this fucking awful world that I’ve been stuck in since I was eleven._
> 
> _The novelty of magic wore off quickly. From the moment I arrived at Hogwarts I stopped being just Harry, and started being Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. There’s only ever been a few of you who have seen me for who I really am, who care about me despite that overbearing, overwhelming reputation._
> 
> _Even the heir of Slytherin thing you helped me through with some much needed humour._
> 
> _I’m never going to send this letter. I don’t even know if I thought I’d send it to the others I tried to write it to. I think that maybe I just need somewhere to get my thoughts out onto paper and if it feels like someone cares it might help._
> 
> _I’m not going back for eighth year. Kingsley offered me an apprenticeship in the auror department, and I think I’m going to accept it. I can’t see myself doing anything else, and just the thought of settling down, of trying to study and learn and be happy while Death Eaters are still free and on the run…_
> 
> _That’s all on me. I was the one who brought Voldemort back, and even though I also killed him his followers are still out for blood, broken out of Azkaban because of me. So it’s up to me to clean up this mess, isn’t it? Even though I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask for Voldemort to try and kill me, for the prophecy, for my life to become a never-ending war._
> 
> _But I can’t leave now. My conscience won’t let me sleep if I don’t own up to this. I might not have wanted it, but it’s my responsibility now._
> 
> _…I’ll let Kingsley know that I’ll accept the position on Monday._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Harry_

 

With shock, Fred blinked down at the letter a few times, re-reading what he thought couldn’t possibly be real. But yes, in Harry’s terrible and barely legible chicken scratch, he’d admitted to having a crush on Fred. Something that Fred had _never_ even considered or picked up on in his life, and considering that he and George were very good at reading emotions and intentions (mostly to make sure that nobody had picked up on the pranks they’d just set in place), it was… a life-changing, world-flipping shock to say the least. What the _fuck_?

 

Harry had always been his kid brother’s best friend.

 

_Always._

 

Even if Fred had felt inordinately proud of said kid brother’s best friend when he took up the mantle of heading up Dumbledore’s Army, that Gryffindor fire in his eyes when he told them all sternly in the Hog’s Head that he wasn’t a hero, just a kid with some dumb luck who could maybe help them all survive an impending war. And then he’d gone and impressed Fred every single goddamn week with the sheer knowledge and _power_ that a fifteen-year-old really shouldn’t have had.

 

And yeah, maybe Fred had always stared at Harry a little too long whenever they’d taken to the skies to practise for Quidditch and the younger had laughed like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders, smiling so wide his eyes all but disappeared into small crescents and even with the wind blowing his hair off his forehead to reveal that distinct scar he’d just seemed like another teenager. But Fred had only stared because it was so rare to see Harry truly happy and free like that, was all.

  
It wasn’t reciprocated.

 

Fred did _not_ have a crush on his younger brother’s best friend who was a competent, attractive and powerful wizard who was all but heading up the auror department at age twenty-one. Definitely not.

 

Even if Lee broke up with him a few months back because they thought that Fred couldn’t commit fully to a romantic relationship because, quote: ‘someone else was on his mind’.

 

But it was one-hundred percent false that Fred could potentially have been harbouring a small, tiny, insignificant admiration crush on one Harry James Potter.

 

Completely false.

 

Clearing his throat, and not sure whether it was a distraction from his own thoughts or a painful curiosity that often came with staring in horror at a tragedy, unable to look away despite the destruction and despair, Fred kept reading. The letters _were_ addressed to him, after all.

 

> _Fred,_
> 
> _It’s been about a month since I accepted the apprenticeship in the auror department. I’m training directly under the head, Gawain. He’s a great guy, been an auror for a long time and took over after Scrimgeour became Minister. He was the one who had to deal with everything through the war, so he knows what it’s like, and he was around for the first one too._  
> 
> _It feels right to be here. Even though Ron’s back at Hogwarts doing eighth year with Hermione and I thought I’d feel a little lost without them, I’m feeling independent. Sure of myself in a way that I haven’t before. Gawain doesn’t give praise easily, but I can tell he’s impressed with me, and not because I’m the ‘Chosen One’._
> 
> _Everything’s been pretty easy so far. I’ve got most of the magical knowledge that the aurors have, and I pick up new spells quite easily these days. Gawain says it’s to do with war-time survival instincts or something. Apparently those of us who’ve gone through a lot pick up stuff faster._
> 
> _Aurors have gone back to their non-lethal unless absolutely necessary position. Earlier it was okay to just strike down Death Eaters as soon as they appeared, but the war is over now and we have to capture and bring them to justice, unless death of civilians is imminent._
> 
> _I’m really liking this. I think you’d be proud of me, even though I’m sure you’ve never seen me as anything more than Ron’s best friend. That’s okay, though. I’ve got plenty of time, and I’m glad your recovery went well. It’s good to see you back in the shop, even though I knew you’d pull through. You’ve always been stronger than others give you credit for._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Harry._

 

Fred scrubbed a hand over his eyes and leaned his head back against the bed he was sitting against. ( _Harry’s bed_ ). The world didn’t seem real, like he’d entered a dream that he couldn’t get out from, and didn’t really have the energy to try and do so.

  
This entire day felt unreal. First Harry’s accident, and now this…

 

Focusing on the room around him, a sudden sense of encroaching guilt took over Fred at his sheer invasion of Harry’s privacy. Sitting in Harry’s room, reading his private letters that he’d clearly never intended to send (even though they were addressed to him), when the man himself was fighting for his life just felt so _wrong_. Nevertheless, considering that none of them had known how Harry felt ended up with him nearly dying – and still could – Fred pushed away the guilt and picked up another letter. If Harry survived his injuries, he wasn’t going to magically feel better again – no spell could do that. So Fred continued reading in the hopes that he could figure out what would make the younger man happy again.

 

> _Fred,_
> 
> _I heard today from Ron’s letter that you and Lee Jordan are dating. I can’t say I’m surprised, you and George have always been close to them. Your partner in crime and all that, I’m honestly shocked it didn’t happen longer ago. You should’ve seen Lee’s face when you asked Angelina to the Yule Ball – I’m glad you’re together now. I really am. I kind of always knew that nothing would happen between us._
> 
> _If I’m being honest, I don’t even know when I started to like you this way. I realised it in fourth year, but it could’ve been before then. All I know is that you were someone comforting and familiar, who made me laugh and saved me on multiple occasions (I still dream about you and George pulling the bars off my window at the Dursleys’ sometimes). Then somewhere along the way I started feeling off if I hadn’t seen you in a while, if I hadn’t heard you crack a joke (good or bad), if something weird hadn’t happened at school that was undoubtedly your doing. Seeing you at Quidditch practise was always one of the highlights of my week._  
> 
> _I’ve always heard from people that love was this huge, all-encompassing, intense feeling that you recognise easily. I’m pretty fucked up though, I don’t even know if I’m capable of feeling something like that. Hermione says that I struggle because I never had any family to love me. I do know that whenever I’m around you I feel like I’m relaxing into a warm, hot bath where I don’t have to worry and can just enjoy myself. It’s different in the way that I’m familiar with Ron and Hermione, Luna and Ginny and the others. Different in the way that I was prepared to die for everyone that night at Hogwarts. It’s not selfless._
> 
> _It’s more selfish than the others, I think. I see you happy with Lee and I’m happy for you both, but at the same time I feel an envy so raw and deep I think it might be dangerous._
> 
> _I’ve never been… possessive of something or someone before. It’s an interesting feeling. Either way, I’m okay just doing what I’m doing. I can’t be distracted from my apprenticeship anyway, my final exam is coming up in a few weeks. Everything I’ve got has to be going into that, not getting jealous over you and Lee._
> 
> _Still yours,_
> 
> _Harry_

 

Swallowing thickly and ignoring the word _love_ that seemed to glare from the parchment more than the rest, Fred picked up another letter and ignored the butterflies in his stomach. The letter was clearly written hastily, with Harry’s handwriting even worse than usual, random ink splotches scattered about.

 

> _Fred,_
> 
> _Merlin, how could I have ever doubted that becoming an auror was the best decision for my life? I feel fucking unstoppable. I didn’t think I’d see so much action so quickly after I finished my final exam and became an auror, but today we caught Rowle. He nearly killed Ron, Hermione and I early last year and helped Dolohov kill Lupin. It felt really good to see his face when I stunned him and sent him sprawling – I wonder what sort of expression I had on my face?_
> 
> _I was a little scared of how good it felt at first - hurting someone - but it’s justice. It’s my job. I’m allowed to feel bloody brilliant about taking down someone who’s killed… I don’t even know how many people he’s killed. But he won’t be killing any more, that’s for sure._
> 
> _I feel so fucking good, Fred. Better than I have in years. I had to stop myself from apparating straight to Diagon Alley and kissing you – even I know when the adrenaline and excitement gets to be a little too much. I don’t want to be a homewrecker. Fuck, I can imagine it though. Just waltzing straight into the store and kissing you breathless, giddy from happiness and pride._
> 
> _Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll dream about that tonight._
> 
> _I think I’m finally happy._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Harry_

 

A sinking feeling dragged Fred’s stomach to his feet at the words he read, and he dropped the letter onto the floor as he stumbled out of Harry’s room and to the closest bathroom, heaving dry over the toilet. Whether it was shock or confusion or guilt or _whatever_ , it crawled it’s way up his throat along with the nonexistent bile that he’d thrown up in a rubbish bin back at the hospital. He could barely breathe, and when his stomach finally calmed down and his throat stopped convulsing, Fred all but collapsed to the cool tiles.

 

What the fuck was going on with him?

 

With Harry it was all to plain and obvious – the adrenaline high he got from hunting down Death Eaters counteracted the guilt he felt from ‘starting’ the whole situation in the first place, until it gradually became his obsession. It’d been months since Harry had come over to the Burrow for dinner like he normally did, and none of them except maybe Ron and Hermione had noticed that it was because the only thing Harry felt like he had left was his job; his responsibility.

 

Still ignoring the corner of his brain that kept shoving four little letters into the forefront of his mind, Fred washed his mouth out and headed down into the kitchen to get something to calm his acidic stomach. The state of the cupboards and fridge were appalling – Harry had clearly been in charge of the groceries instead of Kreacher – and he had to settle for some lightly buttered bread and mostly tasteless tea.

 

Half an hour passed, and Fred debated whether he could handle going back upstairs to invade Harry’s privacy and read more of the letters. It felt wrong to be reading something so personal and that was clearly never meant to see the light of day, but it was blindingly obvious that Harry needed help, and would need it more than ever when – _if_ – he woke up. If Fred was the only one who knew how to help him, then so be it.

 

Taking a packet of slightly stale crackers back upstairs, Fred settled down again on the floor of Harry’s bedroom next to the misshapen pile of letters and the half-packed duffel bag, and continued to read.

 

> _Fred,_
> 
> _We’ve caught five Death Eaters so far, and it feels brilliant. With each one I feel more vindicated and more free from the guilt that’s been eating me up. Ron and Hermione have tried to talk to me about it but they don’t know what it’s like. They’ve been with me since I was eleven but it’s not their fault that so many people are dead, that so many people continue to get hurt and die at the hands of these criminals. They don’t understand that I **have** to do this. Every single person whose name is etched onto the memorial at Hogwarts died because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t smart enough, couldn’t do what Dumbledore entrusted me to do in time._
> 
> _Yeah, I killed Voldemort, but it took long enough that hundreds are dead. Those are on my hands. Their ghosts scream at me every night. Even my parents are dead because of me. Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, Moody… even Snape. Dead because of me._
> 
> _The least I can do is round up and put away the scum that killed them, even if it kills me in the process. Ron and Hermione say I’m obsessed, and when Ron gets his final NEWT results back he’ll be applying to join the auror team too. Maybe then he’ll understand how this feels. Of course I’m obsessed, but how can I not be? What kind of person would I be if I didn’t spend every waking minute trying to find the killers of those who sacrificed themselves in this war that I caused?_
> 
> _Even you nearly died. I remember seeing the explosion out of the corner of my eye and my heart fucking stopped in my chest, I swear. I’d already died that night but it didn’t feel anything like watching you fly through the air and slam into the wall, bleeding and burned and broken. If you’d died, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Just seeing Percy immediately start to work healing spells on you was the only thing that got me through._
> 
> _That was the moment I think I realised that you were more important to me than I’d realised. I’m not sure when it snuck up on me, when you went from being Ron’s big brother to being the person I automatically sought out whenever I entered a room, whenever I felt bad, whenever something stupid happened around school._
> 
> _I think if it’s possible for me to love in such a way, I might love you._
> 
> _Sirius told me about the Potters before he died, told me that my parents and my grandparents and my great-grandparents were all childhood couples. That the Potters had a blessing – they only loved once, but wholly and with their entire heart. Lucky for my family, but not for me. You’re happy with Lee, and I won’t ever love anyone else._
> 
> _Seems everything in my life is cursed with bad luck, even after a piece of Voldemort was removed from my soul._
> 
> _At least I’ve got my work._
> 
> _Yours forever,_
> 
> _Harry_

 

Merlin, this was too much. Fred shouldn’t have been reading the letters, should just put them back into the shoebox and pretend he’d never seen them. He should finish packing the duffel bag, go to the hospital and stay at Harry’s side until visiting hours were over and he and George could go back home to their flat in Diagon Alley and all he’d have to worry about were Harry’s vital signs and not his fucking _broken heart._

 

If Harry had only told him… if Fred had only known…

 

Yeah, he couldn’t deny that Harry hadn’t just been his kid brother’s friend for a long time now. He’d been a lot more than that.

 

Fuck _._ Denial was a bitch.

 

Taking a few moments to process what he’d read, Fred put the letters away and finished packing the duffel bag for Harry. The small bathroom that he’d dry heaved in contained a few hygiene products that he chucked into the bag, and he found a pair of trainers in relatively good condition. Then the bag was zipped up and placed next to the bedroom door, like it was beckoning Fred to leave the letters behind and to go back to the hospital, but he _couldn’t_. Not when he needed to know how Harry got to the point he was at where he didn’t care if he walked straight into a fucking Muggle bomb. He picked up another random letter from towards the top of the pile.

 

> _My love,_
> 
> _I’ve felt more comfortable referring to you as that the last few times, but today it feels wrong. I was following up a lead with Ron in Diagon Alley, since I’m allowed to be training him through his apprenticeship, which is nearly as rushed as mine had been, and what do I see? You and Lee, on a date._
> 
> _Normally you know this wouldn’t worry me. I’m not a homewrecker, I’ve accepted that we’re never going to happen, and just seeing you content makes me content. I guess it’s the most selfless thing I feel about this situation. But I’ve had a shite month. I’m enjoying having Ron back, it feels right, but I’m so sick of dealing with the scum of this earth. Not just the Death Eaters but the people who associate with them, hide them, trade with them, support them. Every time I walk down Knockturn Alley I want to just throw down my wand and punch every single person in the bloody face. Voldemort’s gone, they have no Dark Lord to rally behind, but they still continue to be the shitty humans (and non-humans) that they are. Kingsley still can’t do anything about it._
> 
> _It doesn’t really feel like this job is paying off anymore. Catching a single Death Eater means that I have to go through at least ten people who associate with them, and they’re all just as bad with the downside that they’ve never used an Unforgivable so I’m not allowed to arrest them, as much as I want to. Ron agrees too. It’s almost become an inside joke in the auror department now: how many arseholes do you have to go through to catch a Death Eater?_
> 
> _Sometimes I wonder why I bothered to die for these people. Then I remember the rest of you – the good people in this world – but sometimes it just makes me want to scream._
> 
> _I get now why all the older aurors are so jaded. They’ve been doing this for so long, and they always talk about how important it is to have family and loved ones to go back to at the end of the day to remember what we’re doing this all for: spending every single day with the worst type of people this world has to offer._
> 
> _I don’t have anyone at Grimmauld, not since Andromeda moved out with Teddy, and Kreacher went with them. I should probably go and visit Teddy though, I miss that kid. Andromeda sends me pictures every now and then, and apparently his hair goes all black and curly when he misses me. It’s sweet._  
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Harry_

 

Shit, Fred had entirely forgotten that Harry was Teddy Lupin’s godfather. The boy was three now, and they rarely saw him since Andromeda didn’t interact with members of the Order anymore, not after she’d lost the rest of her family. She was so strong to be raising a kid amongst her grief, and Fred had a moment of anger at Harry’s selfishness for passing off the responsibility of motherhood to a woman who was already grieving her child.

 

Then he remembered that Harry had been eighteen when Lupin and Tonks had died, and eighteen was far too young to be taking care of a child. Teddy belonged with his grandmother, at least until Harry was able to get back onto his feet again – _if_ he could even do that.

 

Had anyone let Andromeda know that Harry was injured? That she could potentially become the sole guardian of her grandson? That she could lose someone else?

 

Merlin, the entire situation was too much to handle. With deep resignation Fred picked up another letter and began reading.

 

> _My love,_
> 
> _Sometimes it feels like I’ve forgotten how to smile. Your family can all tell how fake they are on my face whenever I go over for dinner, but nobody comments on it. I think the only ones who can actually bring it out of me now are you and Teddy. He’s so sweet, two years old and talking about anything and everything despite his limited vocabulary. He really likes having bubblegum pink hair recently, something that makes Andromeda tear up every time she looks at him. He looks a lot less like me now that he’s got his mother’s hair and father’s eyes._
> 
> _I must be letting them down._
> 
> _But honestly, he’s better off without me. They both are. I don’t… I don’t have the capacity to deal with that anymore, and they deserve someone who can actually function as a human being and not a machine. Teddy deserves someone who can love him unconditionally, soothe him when he’s hurt, tell him how proud they are of him and mean it, who can laugh at all the weird things he likes to do with his appearance. I can’t be that._
> 
> _I can’t be much of anything, recently. Other than an auror, and even that’s starting to feel like a chore. I thought that after the war was over, after Voldemort was dead, that maybe I’d start feeling better, more free. But I just feel worse everyday when I’m not numb. I just feel… like I’m falling apart. I can’t hold myself together because I can’t even find my own edges to start piecing my mind back in place. I can’t let the others know, though. They’ll put me out of fieldwork and send me off to the mind healers like some of the other aurors and I can’t do that._
> 
> _This is the **only** thing I have, right now. I need this work, I need to keep distracted, I need to keep going. I need to finish this._
> 
> _Maybe then I’ll be free._
> 
> _I haven’t seen you in a while. Occasionally when I pass the store in Diagon Alley I’ll peer in the window and catch glimpses of you, but that’s about it. I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re making the most of your freedom._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Harry_

 

The next letter he picked up had ink smudged in certain areas, and the parchment showed distinct signs of dried water drops. Tears.

 

> _Fred,_
> 
> _I’m sure you heard the news today. It’ll be front page on the Prophet by now._  
> 
> _I was only seconds too slow to stop it from happening. Rookwood knew that he’d have more of a chance to get away in Muggle London, and tried to escape through the underground. He didn’t count on there being so many people down there, though, and that the train would take a few minutes to arrive. So he panicked._
> 
> _We – **I** – have to liaise with the Muggle government to try and sort out a story to cover it. Terrorist attack, we’ll probably say. Some foreign Muggles making a statement against the country, or something. We’ll make sure that the memory department check out all the people who were down there to ensure that nobody remembers what actually happened. It’s horrible, but… it has to be done._
> 
> _Eighteen civilians dead. Forty more injured. That’s 58 more counts of blood on my hands. I don’t know if I can take this anymore_
> 
> _I don’t_
> 
> _Fred_
> 
>  
> 
> _i can’t do this anymore_
> 
> _i have to but i can’t it’s too hard i don’t want this it’s too hard_
> 
>  
> 
> _what did i do to deserve this_

 

Screwing up the paper into a ball and throwing it at the wall, Fred screamed out in frustration, repeatedly banging his head back on the mattress like it was going to do any real fucking damage. Nothing had ever been so goddamn unfair in _existence_ than all the shit that Harry James Potter had to go through.

 

There was nothing left of the kid Fred knew in school, that much was obvious. Even physically it was difficult to see where he was the same – no longer with knobbly knees and hair sticking out in every direction. Harry’s deep skin had gotten darker from the amount of time he spent out in the field, his hair had grown out into long curls that he kept tied up at the back of his head, and he’d grown some facial hair that made him look _good_. The white scar on his forehead was always visible but faded, and the only thing that had stayed the same were his bright green eyes and round wire-frame glasses.

 

Fred had always thought Harry looked stunning with those light eyes against his darker skin.

 

But now instead of just looking different, _he_ was different.

 

The teenager who kept getting back up every time he was knocked down, the one who laughed with glee on a Quidditch pitch, with the inspiring words and strong spine and amazingly powerful spellwork was _gone_. In his place was a man broken in every single way, and _Fred had never fucking known._

 

Without the letters, Harry could die with nobody ever having known how he’d truly felt. He could die miserable, alone and suffering, when he deserved everything good in the world. He deserved happiness and love and relaxation, deserved soft things and warm cups of tea and smiles and kisses.

 

If Harry made it through this – made it through alive – Fred would live every single day until his dying breath giving the younger man every single one of those things.

 

He picked up the duffel bag and didn’t bother to put the letters away, just strode out of the house until he was off the property line and could apparate back to St. Mungo’s. He was silent as he weaved his way through labyrinth of hallways, avoiding reporters who had somehow caught wind of the situation in the few hours that Fred had been gone, and returned to Harry’s private hospital room to see his family still standing or sitting around, largely in the same way they’d been when he’d left.

 

Fred dumped the duffel bag on the floor by the end of Harry’s bed, dragged up a chair that squealed horribly against the linoleum, and grasped Harry’s hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the younger man’s knuckles.

 

“Don’t you dare die on us, you arse,” Fred murmured. “Not when you’ve still got family who love you.”

 

He could feel the stares of his family all around him but ignored them thoroughly, tightening his grip on Harry’s hand, looking at the slack, unconscious face of the man he cared so much about, who he’d missed out on so much with because of his own stupidity and denial.

 

“Please, Harry,” he all but begged. “Let us help you.”

 

There was silence, and then the room filled with rapid wailing noises as Harry’s vitals suddenly dropped into the fatal red zone, and his family screamed as healers poured into the room, wands lit with golden lights on the end.

 

Fred didn’t let go of Harry’s hand even as the younger seized in place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**\-- Five Months Later --**

 

Fred woke up slowly, shirtless and alone amongst the cold sheets. He shuddered, tucking the blankets tighter around him, looking about the room to make out the vague shadow-upon-shadow shapes around him.

 

Empty.

 

With a sigh and a look at the clock ( _four-thirty-one a.m._ ) he reluctantly slid out from under the covers, shuddering when his feet touched the cool wooden floorboards. He grabbed an oversized jumper from the pile next to the bed and threw it on, the high turtleneck immediately warming him up. Not willing to turn on a light and still mostly half-asleep, he felt around on the ground until he came across the socks he’d haphazardly tossed off before getting into bed (sleeping with socks on was the _worst_ , no matter what other people said).

 

Not bothering with putting his glasses on (he’d finally admitted that he needed them, which George found hilarious since _he_ didn’t, plus he wouldn’t be able to wear them with only one ear anyway), he stumbled out of his bedroom and down the stairs.

 

A light was on in the living room, and the faint sound of the kettle boiling echoed up through the stairwell. Heading straight into the kitchen, he got out two mugs and two teabags, placing a spoonful of sugar in one as well as a splash of milk into each. Once the kettle was done he poured the tea, stirring it a little to make sure the sugar and milk distributed easily, and kept the teabags in.

 

Trying very carefully not to spill either of the drinks, he walked into the living room to see a figure seated on the sofa, staring out the window into the twilight, eyelids drooping with every blink. The figure jumped a little when Fred appeared in their peripheral vision, placing the two mugs on the coffee table. Fred rolled his eyes at the sheepish smile he got, and tucked himself in on the sofa next to the person, wrapping an arm about their shoulders.

 

“What have I said about staying up so late?” he sighed, hooking his chin over the other’s shoulder. He could clearly see the pout on the other man’s lips.

 

“Not to do it,” Harry sighed.

 

“And why not?”

 

“Because the bed is too cold without me and you’re a clingy bugger,” Harry retorted cheekily, and Fred slapped him lightly on the pajama-covered thigh. “It’s true and you know it.”

 

“It’s _because_ you need to stop obsessing over your old job and get some well-deserved rest,” Fred insisted, switching his position to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist from behind. Harry’s hands came to sit on his own, and it was strange how similar they looked – both with a marble constellation of faded white mottling the skin, though it was far more obvious on Harry’s deeper tone than Fred’s pale hands. He ran his fingers comfortingly over Harry’s knuckles, and looked over to where the Daily Prophet was still open on the coffee table next to their two steaming mugs of tea.

 

“Any thoughts about what you want to do?” Fred asked, trying to distract Harry. The younger was still keeping obsessively up-to-date with every article that came out in the Prophet about the auror department and their hunt for the few stragglers left behind from Voldemort’s reign. It hadn’t been easy when he’d woken up in the hospital and been told that he was put on indefinite leave.

 

“Was thinking about opening a coffee shop,” Harry replied lightly, and Fred muffled his snort into his boyfriend’s neck.

 

“You don’t know the first thing about making coffee,” he laughed. “You can’t even make a decent cup of tea, Harry. You just wave the teabag over the top and think it’s done.”

 

“Not my fault I’m impatient,” his boyfriend huffed, curling away from Fred in mock frustration. Fred released his hold on Harry’s waist to pull his hair out of the messy bun it was usually in, running his fingers through the curling tresses. Harry all but melted into the sofa and began purring, and Fred smiled and twisted the strands into a messy braid.

 

“You’re patient when it comes to important things,” murmured Fred. “You were endlessly patient with us in the D.A. It took weeks for Neville to finally conjure his patronus and not once did you ever get annoyed with him. You just need a reason to be patient.”

 

“So what are you saying?” Harry asked, turning around in Fred’s hold, the strands of the younger’s hair falling away. Harry rest one of his legs over Fred’s lap and adjusted himself until he was lying back comfortably on the sofa, raising one eyebrow in Fred’s direction.

 

“I’m saying…” Fred whispered, leaning down to press his lips to Harry’s. “That there is a lot of patience in this household, but I don’t have a lot when I’m cold and alone in bed, missing my hot water bottle.”

 

Harry snorted and flicked Fred’s ear. “Is that all I am to you? A hot water bottle? And here I thought you loved me because of my ravishingly good looks and accumulative wealth.”

 

“Well it’s certainly not because of your abysmal tea-making abilities,” Fred retorted. Harry chuckled under his breath, and even just that quiet sound lit up a warm, crackling fire within Fred’s chest. Laughter of any kind was still rare for Harry, and Fred could feel his gaze softening as he stared down at his boyfriend, who blushed.

 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Harry complained, bringing up a hand to cover his red cheeks.

 

“Like what?”

 

Harry’s blush deepened. “Like I’m the most important thing in the world to you,” he whispered under his breath. Fred leaned down with a stupid grin on his face and pressed a kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose.

 

“That’s because you are,” he replied, loving the way that Harry squirmed uncomfortably beneath him but couldn’t quite stop the pleased smile from taking over his face. Fred grabbed Harry by the biceps and pulled him upright, pressing a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

 

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

 

The two of them made their way up the staircase, past Sirius’ room and into their shared bedroom, a mug of tea in each hand. Once in bed they automatically curled up towards each other like parentheses, and the moonlight shining in from the window reflected in Harry’s eyes as he stared at Fred, who stared back.

 

“Harry…” he murmured, and his boyfriend reached out to grasp Fred’s hand.

 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Harry whispered in reply. “You know I’m trying. I just… I can’t turn it off. I still feel like I need to be out there, fixing what I started.”

 

“Love-“

 

“I know, I know, I didn’t start it, it’s not my fault, it’s all Voldemort’s and not mine, et cetera et cetera,” Harry grumbled. “I do listen to what Healer Michel says, you know. Doesn’t make it easy to turn my back on what I feel is my responsibility to do something as useless as _being happy_.”

 

Fred stared at Harry for a few silent seconds, then shuffled forward to forcibly tug his boyfriend into a hug, manoeuvring them until Harry was all but lying atop him with a huff.

 

“You deserve to be happy,” Fred insisted, running a hand through Harry’s hair. “I don’t care how many times I have to say it until you believe it. You deserve to live a life without fear and anger and guilt, and if running a bloody coffee shop will do that for you then I’ll tell Patty two doors down that we’ll buy the store and call it _Espresso Patronum_.”

 

After being silent for a beat, Harry dissolved into delighted giggles, snorting rather unattractively.

 

“I’ll find out where the closest barista course is and get you all the books I can about coffee, and plaster the walls of my shop with pamphlets for Diagon Alley’s best caffeine hotspot, and come out with a whole range of coffee-themed products to celebrate,” he continued. “If that will make you happy, and keep you content, then I’ll bloody well do it.”

 

After Harry’s giggled subsided, he shifted so he could press his chin into Fred’s sternum and stared up at him with sparkling eyes.

 

“You’d really do that for me?” he asked, looking half awed and half disbelieving.

 

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Fred replied, running a thumb across Harry’s cheekbone. “And right now, that’s keeping you in his bed until you fall asleep by any means necessary.”

 

Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

 

“I’ll do it,” Fred threatened quietly.

 

“Do what?” Harry retorted, eyebrow cocked. Within seconds Fred had flipped them over so that Harry was on his back, hair splayed out on the pillow beneath him, looking up with expectant eyes.

 

Fred leaned in so close that their lips brushed together when he spoke.

 

“Mandrake, or _mandragora_ , is a powerful restorative that is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed into their natural state…” he recited deadpan, causing Harry to squawk and shove him back with a laugh.

 

Perhaps all was not well yet, but they were on their way to being so.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Cheyenne for the commission, it was a really interesting chance to explore a ship I've never considered before! If anyone else is interested in me writing them something, check out [this link](https://tricksterity.tumblr.com/post/167729545737/commission-time-open-the-basics-im-a) for more info!


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